THE WOMAN WHO RAN THE WORLD

The woman who ran the world: The inspirational story of the widow who conquered her grief by jogging round the globe

By AMANDA CABLE 

UPDATED: 06:49 GMT, 21 May 2009

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Rosie Swale-Pope marked her 57th birthday by donning trainers, pulling on a backpack and leaving her pretty Welsh cottage to go for a run. 

Five years, 20,000 miles and 53 pairs of running shoes later, she hobbled back on crutches with a fractured hip but an unbroken, and truly remarkable, spirit. 

During her extraordinary (some might say fool-hardy) solo round-the-world run, she was shadowed by a pack of wolves in Russia, confronted by a naked gunman in Siberia and nearly froze to death in Alaska.

Running all over the world: Rosie Swale-Pope took up the challenge after losing her husband to cancer

In the end, it was both a bitter fight for survival and a vivid celebration of life - but it began because she found herself widowed and, for the first time in her life, alone.

Just months after losing her beloved husband, Clive, to prostate cancer in June 2002, Rosie decided to embark on a charity run to raise money awareness.

She says: 'I pulled out a map of the world and sat there trying to choose a destination for my run. Then the idea suddenly came to me. I thought: "I know, I'll run the whole world - it will be like a package tour on legs."' 

So Rosie, a grandmother, began planning her adventure in meticulous detail. 

'I was utterly heartbroken and this gave me something to do. I knew I couldn't just tear around the world on a whim. It had to be properly researched.' 

First, she had to choose the route - 'A lovely little circle through Europe, Russia, Siberia, Alaska, Canada, America, Greenland and Iceland. It was the most logical, though not the most comfortable, way around the world.' 

Her preparations included learning six languages: Dutch, German, Polish, Lithuanian, Latvian and Russian. 

'I knew it wouldn't be any good to be stuck in the middle of a country and not be able to ask for food,' she says. 'I even managed to do a television interview in Russian - although I'm not sure how well they understood my answers.' 

The daughter of an English Army officer and his Swiss wife, Rosie is what one might politely describe as a true English eccentric. 

 

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Her mother died of tuberculosis when she was two, and she was raised by her paternal grandmother amid a collection of orphaned donkeys. 

At 18, she became a reporter for a local newspaper in Surrey. She got married in her early 20s and made national news in the 1970s when she sailed to Australia and back in a small boat with her first husband and their young daughter, Eve. Their son James was born on board the boat in 1971. 

Rosie says with some indignation: 'The newspapers reported that we were naked on board - but that was ridiculous. We could never have sailed that distance naked. We sent hundreds of photos back to London of our voyage and just a couple of them featured us with no clothes on. They were the ones which were used!' 

By 1983, Rosie was divorced and planning a solo sailing trip across the Atlantic in aid of the Royal Marsden Hospital when she met Clive, her second husband.

'We had 20 wonderful years together. He was a businessman and we lived in Tenby in Wales. We had so many plans for the future. When Clive fell ill, he had just trained as a cameraman, as we planned to make documentary films together. 

'Clive was an outdoors man and he had these wonderful twinkling blue eyes and always looked so happy. He never wanted to go and see doctors because he didn't want to waste their time.

'Then one day in 2000 he went to the GP because he was having trouble going to the toilet. The doctor diagnosed prostate cancer, but the prognosis still looked good. 

Clive responded well to oral chemotherapy, and for two years we thought it was something we would get through together.

'Then one morning, when Clive pulled the bedclothes off, this briefest of contact broke his arm. The cancer had spread and his bones were crumbling. 

'Clive was so brave. He became paralysed when the tumour reached his spine, and I lived at the hospital, lying beside him in my sleeping bag. I loved him so much that I would have had the cancer myself 20 times over if it had lessened his pain.

Meal break: Rosie in Iceland in April 2008

'In the end, they sent Clive home to die. I remember how happy he was to see the honeysuckle again, and I had trained the sparrows to come up to the window. He called them his little feathered hooligans. 

'One night in June 2002, he just slipped away in his sleep. He was only 73. I climbed into bed with him and hugged him all night long. I have never felt so much grief in all my life. 

'As a child, I had lost my mother and father, but losing Clive was like having part of me just torn away. I think I knew that night that I had to do something - anything - to increase awareness of this awful disease and to try to stop just one woman going through the misery that I was experiencing. 

'Over the next few weeks and months, the loneliness was crippling. But Clive had always told me to face life with courage. And I needed to do something to cure my grief and sorrow.' 

Sixteen months later, Rosie's preparations for her round-the-world trip were complete. 

She'd trained diligently, completing 30-mile runs daily and wearing a backpack with increasingly heavy weights inside it. She had also constructed a sort of rolling luggage box with bicycle-sized wheels, which she pulled along behind her as she was running. 

It was to be her only means of support in terms of carrying kit and equipment.

Rosie says: 'I funded the trip myself by renting out my cottage, using my small pension and digging into my savings. 'I said goodbye to my son in Tenby, but it wasn't until I had run down to London - stopping overnight at hotels on the way - and spent a final night with my daughter that the enormity of what I had done finally hit me. 

'We were hugging each other and it was so hard to let go and set off with a little backpack. I had my mobile phone to keep in contact, but I didn't know when I would see my children or grandchildren again.' 

Snow queen: Braving the elements in Maine, USA

And so it was that Rosie set off, carrying a tent, a passport and a basic wardrobe of clothes, running to Harwich and taking the ferry to Holland. 

'I had never been a good runner, but if my feet were covered with blisters or my legs ached unbearably, I just imagined Clive's face, and that somehow gave me the strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

'On good days, I would cover 30 miles. Later, when I hit snow and the ice, it would take me a whole day to make just 500 yards. I stopped whenever I felt too exhausted to continue, almost always sleeping in the tent or the buggy I pulled behind me. 

'In each city, I used my one bank card to draw local currency. It cost me less to live than it would have done at home - just £3,000 a year. 

'I mostly felt fit and fine, but in Russia, near Lake Baikal, I began to feel utterly ghastly. I thought I might have been bitten by a tick, because my chest felt heavy and I had a temperature. Finally, I weaved straight into the road and was hit by a bus.' 

Knocked unconscious, she was loaded onto the bus and taken to the nearest hospital. 

She says: 'When I woke up, I was on a ward surrounded by doctors. They told me: "It's lucky you were hit by the bus, because you have double pneumonia and we can treat you now." 

'I was in there for five days, and the staff were wonderful. My head was covered in cuts, and they treated them with disinfectant which unfortunately reacted with the blonde dye in my hair and turned it bright green. I looked like a middle-aged punk rocker. 

'When it was time to leave hospital, the bus driver who had knocked me down turned up. He introduced himself as Genia, and drove me to his mother-in-law's house to recover. 

'I found people so incredibly friendly. I think, as a single woman, I wasn't a threat to anyone. Outside Moscow, I met two charming old gentlemen who saw me trying to light a fire in the rain. They stopped to help me and I thanked them and waved goodbye. 

'The next day, when I reached the nearest village, I decided to track them down to thank them again. I described them to the locals and there was a real commotion. It turned out they were two murderers who were on the run.' 

Rosie shakes her head in disbelief. 'They were so kind to me. Maybe they had killed their wives many years ago and had learned from their mistakes.' 

In the gold mining district of East Siberia, Rosie found herself confronted by a naked man waving a gun. She purses her lips in disapproval. 

'He wasn't a pretty sight at all. I knew the area was dangerous, and I had been warned that people are brought in from asylums to work in the mines. 

City girl: Running through New York in October 2007

'One morning, there was a noise outside my tent and I saw this man, completely naked, waving a gun. He was quite mad, but I knew I couldn't just run off and leave my equipment. 

'So I acted as if I met naked gunmen every day of the week, wished him a very cheerful good morning and shook hands with him. He walked off looking slightly mystified - but I did pack up rather hastily after that.' 

In Moscow, she found herself staring at a knife blade. She says: 'It was my birthday and I wanted to see if I had any emails. I was sitting at the roadside checking my phone and an old man came over and introduced himself as Sergei. The next thing I knew, he was pointing a sharp knife at my heart, digging it into my chest.

'I was so angry - there was no way anyone was going to take my phone away from me on my birthday. So I pushed his knife aside and said, in Russian: "Don't be so silly." He looked at me in amazement and simply ran off.'

But it wasn't just stray humans who jumped at the sound of Rosie's cut-glass accent. 

Feral dogs, wolves and bears all became unlikely companions. She recalls: 'In Siberia, I was walking alone for ten days with no other human in sight, and a pack of wolves began to follow me. During the day, they would disappear, but at night they came to find me again. 

'One of them stuck his head inside my tent and I said: "Oh, please don't eat me." But I think they were just curious - I don't know if they had even seen a human before. 

'I was scared to start with, then I told myself that they were protecting me, and I honestly believe that they were. 

'In the wild, I met a pack of feral dogs. I threw them some bread, for which they were very grateful. That night, I woke with something heavy on top of my tent. It was the seven wild dogs sleeping on top of me, keeping me warm.' 

Rosie's own rations were scarce. 'I would buy food whenever I reached a shop and carry it around in my rucksack, but in Siberia you can't carry vegetables because they freeze. 

'The locals told me to carry garlic, because you can use it to cure coughs and colds. It really worked. Villagers also showed me how to strip bark from birch trees and boil it to make a passable tea. 

'I carried a bar of lavender soap and had a plastic bucket to wash myself and then my clothes.

'The sense of isolation was intense at times. I tried to ring my family every few days, but keeping busy really helped.' 

It was in Alaska, with temperatures dropping to minus 60 degrees, that Rosie found herself battling for survival. 

She says, without a hint of irony: 'I think I underestimated Alaska. I ran out of food, and melted down my vitamin pills, mixed them with my last garlic cube and made soup. For ten days, I battled the extreme cold and I honestly wondered if I was going to make it. 

Final leg: Rosie on crutches, but determined to make it home

'My equipment was frozen solid, and I lost sensation in my hands. I woke on several mornings with my eyelashes frozen shut to my face. 

'To be honest, I did have bleak moments - but I reminded myself that others went off to war, so I shouldn't feel sorry for myself.' 

Rosie did, however, succumb to severe frostbite in a foot, necessitating an emergency rescue from the National Guard. 

She says: 'It really was the only time in my life that I've ever had to ask for help. But I was stuck in a blizzard by the river Yukon in Alaska. My toe had turned purple, and my entire foot was frozen.

'So I rang my friends back home in Wales, and they rang the National Guard. I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life.'

Once the frostbite had been treated - and her toe saved - Rosie continued her journey. 

A fall on ice in Iceland broke several ribs and cracked her hip, but her spirit remained undented. 

She says cheerfully: 'I reached England in August 2008, and was 32 miles from home when the pain in my hip became unbearable. I couldn't even put one foot in front of the other. I went to the local hospital and they discovered a stress fracture of the hip. 

'I was put in a bed and told not to walk anywhere. I found a Zimmer frame on the old people's ward but they confiscated it. I couldn't believe that I was so close to home,  only to find that my dream might be over. 

'When the consultant came around, I told him about Clive and literally begged him to let me go. He asked the physiotherapists to give me crutches, and very gingerly I set off on my travels again. I don't think I felt the pain at all because I was so excited about seeing my family again. I was almost walking on air.'

On August 25, 2008, Rosie finally returned home - to waiting family, friends and TV cameras. 

She says: 'It was overwhelming to see them again, and the grandchildren were thrilled because I could tell them all about the wolves. I couldn't believe I was back in my own home again, and I kept flicking the light switch on and off because I wasn't used to electricity. I couldn't wait to have a hot bath, but I actually forgot that you have to switch the taps off and soaked my bathroom floor.' 

Rosie has spent the past nine months writing the story of her extraordinary voyage, with the breezy title Just A Little Run Around The World. 

She says: 'I just wanted to raise awareness of prostrate cancer. If I'd learned about some silly woman running around the world when Clive was alive, I might have taken him to the doctors and it might just have saved him.' 

But how did the journey change this pensioner-come-adventurer? Rosie says: 'I've learned that when everything is lost, you've made mistakes and you don't think you will survive, you can just keep going and get through it. 

'I've learned not to fear things the way I used to. I no longer worry about how tall I am or how old I am. I've learned to celebrate life - and to live it to the full.' 

There's no doubt that Clive Swale-Pope, who urged his wife to face the world with courage as he lay dying, would approve. 

• ROSIE SWALE-POPE'S book, Just A Little Run Around The World, is published by HarperTrue on May 28 at £6.99. To order a copy (p&p free), call 0845 155 0720.

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ME AND MY TYPEWRITERS

Typewriters are no more. The computers have taken their place, Like perhaps the typewriters had taken the place of handwriters, years and years ago.

Typewriters are machines, and we know that machines are not like human beings. They do not feel. They do not have sentiments. But humans do feel.

As the times pass, and values change, people do feel. They feel a lot the absence of someone who remained nearer to them, when they do not find him around anymore. But this is life, and we humans are meant to pass through all sorts of emotional ups and downs. These are all human relationships. When we come to this world, we find parents, relatives, friends, etc etc around us. Their numbers increases, as we grow up, and so are our mutual feelings and attachments with them. A time comes when we usually starts losing physical contacts  with the same people , one by one. There can be more than one reasons for that. But losing the beloved ones are just part of the life.

Things are but a little different when the matter comes to our relationships with the machines. We do develop a sense of close attachment, a mental closeness with the machines, that we work with frequently. We do miss them too when they depart from our lives, due to one reason or another. The only differnece here that we presume that machines do not feel anything, when they lose us, or lose our attention and attachment towards them.

Same is the case of my relationships with Typewriters.

I must be may be 6 or 7 years old. There is a very blurring scene of a small institute sort of shop where my father had taken me. It was night, and he was typing. The whole room was bubbling with the sounds of the typewrite machines. I do not remember if my father was learning typing there or he had gone there to type some urgent piece of writing. I simply do not know.

We did not have a typewriter in our house.

When i took commerce in class ninth, typewriting was going to be one of my subjects. Learning typing was thus a must. My father took me to a nearby typing institute, named GREEN TYPING INSTITUTE, and i started learning typing there. I used to be there for an hour daily, five days a week.There were quite a few boys learning typewriting there every hour of the day.

I had started learning typewriting. The basics................

asdfgf ;lkjhj asdfgf ;lkjhj asdfgf ;lkjhj

I repeated these lines hundreds and thousands times , to move to the next lesson

qwert poiuy qwert poiuy qwert poiuy

and then learnt typing the lower line of the typing keysboard, and so on and so forth.

It was the beginning of my long long relationship with the typewriter.

Within a short period of time i had learnt typing basics, and started concentrating more on speed works.
We used to have a periodical test of our typing speeds, where we were given a paragraph of a few hundred words, to type at our maximum possible speed. Our typing speed had been calculated on the basis of number of words typed in a minute's time, on average basis. The mistakes were deleted from the total number of the words typed.



I continued with the same typing institute for quite a long time.

We used to have typewriters in our school too, but i always found it difficult to work on a different typewriter, may be due to my attachment with my machine.

A couple of months before our final examinations of Matriculation examinations (1969), i changed my institute and got enrolled into an another typewriting institute, in the vicinity of the school. The practical examination of Typewriting was taken inside the premises of our school. So most of us, who were the students of the same institute carried the heavy typewriters by hands to our school. We had had to do this because we wanted to conduct our Typewriting practical examination on the same machine with which we had adjusted ourselves. It was a dual relationship, with a sense of internal satisfaction. Otherwise machines are just machines. But in the end it is always the relationship that matters.

The funny side of the story is that in that particular examination, my machine broke down halfway the exam. So i had had to change my machine and completed my Typewriting practical exercises on a machine which i had never used before.

My father bought a second hand typewriter, in 1976 (?).

It was a ROYAL Typewriter ( or HERMES). It was a very heavy metallic machine, and i used a lot. I learnt the cleaning and basic repairing on this typewriter. Whole of my FreeLance Journalism (1980-1991) was done on this particular typewriter.

My parents and brothers and sister were used to the heavy THAK THAK THAK sounds of the metallic fingers of this typewriter, because i was not using it at a particular period of time of the day. Since i was working as auditor during the day times, i had had to type down my articles for newspapers at odd times of the night or early in the morning. My thanks to my parents and brothers and sister who bore these sounds for so long a period of time.

Since i migrated from Pakistan in 1991, i found myself in a totally different environment. In my subsequent years of fight for survival, i lost my relationship with the typewriters. I had had to build a totally new relationship with the machine. This time it was computers. I started using the computer as somewhat modernised form of my old typewriter. But the same relationship could never be built again.

My Typewriter was no more. My long long relationship with the metallic framed machine, called Typewriter, which had started at a veery tender age, is no more. I lost it. Was it my mistake? I do not know.

Right now as i am writing these lines, struggling on the keyboards of this laptop that my children use, the whole film of my past relationship with my Typewriters, swiftly passing in front of my eyes. So fast that i cannot see anything, except the unforgettable sound of my machine.

THAK THAK THAK THAK THAK THAK

asdfgf ;lkjhj asdfgf ;lkjhj asdfgf ;lkjhj

JAMAL DIN WALI

Just today i came across the news that Makhdoom Ahmed Mahmood is going to be appointed as the Governor of Punjab. This name brought my mind 39 years back, and the pages of my memory book started unfolding itself. So here i am, trying to bring out my old untold story.

The year was 1973. My father had sent me the very next after i came out of my last paper of the B.Com final exam, to Pir Mohammad Kaliya & Co. Chartered Accountants, at Shams Chambers, Karachi. Obviously my father did not want me to remain roaming aimlessly with friends. I had already told him that i would like to be a Chartered Accountant, so his step was just in line of my desire.

Mr. Pir Muhammad Aba Umar Kaliya, was a young very talented Chartered Accountant, with 7 professional and educational qualifications attached to his name. Beside that he was excessively active in social and political fields.

I was just a novice, as i joined that office. Mr. Zakaria Karim (FCA) was his partner. He taught me the very basics of audits.

It was my perhaps third day on the job, when i was told that i would have to go out of karachi for an outstation audit assignment. I was supposed to be taken by Mr. Zakaria Kareem to Jamal Din Wali Estate (near Sadiqabad).I was happy, because i would be getting a chance to experience another thrill. However, frankly i did not have a very clear idea about an outstation audit assignment.

For my parents, it was a moment to think seriously. To allow me to go or not. I was just 18. and would be going out like that for the first time in my life. Alone. with unknown persons. to an unknown place. for an unknown work. Indeed it was a difficult decision for my parents to take. However, it was positive thinking of my parents that they opted not to come in way. However they did take all sort of necessary measures. to console themselves. They did visit the family of Mr. Zakaria Kareem. . to develop close understanding and contact with him and his family.

Well to cut the story short. i boarded the Khyber Mail. with Mr. Zakaria Kareem. We reached Sadiqabad, the next morning. From there we reached Jamal Din Wali Estate. bu public transport.

As we entered the Estate, we were taken to the office of the General Manager, a retired military official, who arranged for our accomodation in the annexe of the main HAWELEE. Everything was really wonderful. The scenery. the food. the room. the furniture. etc etc.

In the evening, we were invited by Makhdoomzade Syed Iqbal Mahmood, the youngest son of Makhdoom Ghulam Miran Shah, the actual owner of the Estate. We were received into the outer verandah. For the first time in my life i was entering into such a huge , impressive and well furnished building. I was keeping quite (there was nothing for me to talk about, since i did not know anything), and looking at the building. I was really bemused by the attention that we were getting.

The next day we started the real audit assignment. The office was a small one. The accounting staff was co-operative and polite. However, it was going to be a very tough job for me. First, because i was just a novice, fresh from the College, without any practical experience, secondly the accounts were in pure urdu and thirdly it was all related to agricultural lands and agricultural produce. However, as the time proved later on, i learnt a lot on this particular assignment, and in fact it was this foundation on which the whole building of my future audit profession and qualification was constructed.

In the beginning it was terribly hard for me to understand the various names of the products, agricultural tools, and other relevent terms.

Mr. Zakaria Kareem left me after a week, as a Senior boy was sent from Karachi to carry on the assignment with me. The name of the new Senior boy was Ayub. He was a period completed boy from Ahmed B. Khan & Co. Chartered Accoutnants. (?).

I stayed in Jamal Din Wali for a total period of three months, with Ayub. He was a wonderful person. friend, who taught me the golden rules of the audit life.

Ayub was very careful about his health. He used to wake me up early in the morning, to go with him out for a walk. We used to walk without shoes or socks on green grass, softly wet due to the night due. We used to do quite a few basic exercises, every morning. It was quite too cold, yet the surroundings were  pure and natural and beautiful.

In the evening he daily made me walk briskly with him, after dinner. Our walking place was the open place just in front of the annexe building. There had not been any other guest in the building, except we two persons.

One Sunday evening he took me for a long long walk. on the 20km long main road going to Sadiqabad from Rahim Jan Wali. I did not have any idea whatever, i just started off with him. We must have gone around 10 km (?) perhaps, that it started getting dark. A bus driver picked us up from the road and brought back to our annexe.

It was at Jamal Din Wali Estate, where i found out tea selling by weight. It was a famous Doodh Patti chay. So it was sold by the weight of the milk. Since we were the guests of the Makhdoom Saheb, so we were free to drink as much tea in the office as we wanted. All foods were free too. I was too amused by this VIP treatment, that i was getting.

Once we were invited to watch a fight between a bear and the dogs. It my first experience to watch huge bull terriors etc trying to cut the bear from different places. In response the bear was also injuring the dogs by his paws. It was a real bloody encounter.

During the period of over 3 months that i spent at Jamal Din Wali Estate, i visited my family in Karachi twice. Ayub . my Senior, accompanied me on both the occassions. On these tours, he taught me the very unknown puff points of travelling in the trains. He taught me how to enter a fully filled compartment from the window. He taught me  how to secure a ticket when all of the train tickets have already been solved. He taught me how to manage a sufficient place to sit and at sometimes to lay down and sleep on floor of the train compartment, when there is no place left on the floor even to stand. He was a man who taught me how to find a way out when there is no evident way out.

I owe a lot to Ayub.
I do not know where he is now, yet he is always with me in all my thrilling adventures, because he had showed me the way.

I returned back from Jamal Din wali in April 1974. and joined Rahim Jan & Co. Chartered Accountants as Articled Clerk.

http://cities.wikia.com/wiki/Sadiq_Abad:Jamal_Din_Wali

http://wikimapia.org/4909200/Jamal-Din-Wali-city


Famous mosque of Jamal Din Wali


JAMAL DIN WALI SUGAR MILLS

MY SCHOOL

THE MAIN ENTRANCE OF MY SCHOOL AS IT STANDS NOW (2012)

What one means by mentioning MY SCHOOL?

Does it mean Primary School? or the Secondary School?. Everyone can have differing views and comments on this, however whenever i refer to MY SCHOOL, i always meant the GOVERNMENT BOYS SECONDARY SCHOOL NO.1  NAZIMABAD, KARACHI.

I studied in this school for 3 years, from class eighth to tenth (matriculation). I passed my matriculation and left the school in 1969. Those 3 years were perhaps the golden years of my academic life. Uncountable memories swift past my mind, hundreds and thousands of  unrelated scenes  but attached like the frames of a long film, do pass through my eyes. This is what happens when i mention the world MY SCHOOL. The span of 3 years is a very very short period of my 57 years long life, but this small period was perhaps the jumping board for my whole todate life. Absolutely correct.

Let i give a very brief survey of my academic life.
My parents sent me to a not exceptionally good, but it was an english medium school, where the Radiant Reading and other books from the British Curriculum were taught to us. It was my Primary School. It's name was Crescent Grammer School, and was situated in a lower middle class area of Nazimabad number 3, Karachi. I studied there till class 4. I was good in school, and was granted double promotion once.

My parents changed their residence, and we shifted to Nazimabad Np. 1. Here i was got admitted in a far better english medium school. It's name was WINDSOR SCHOOL. It was run by one Mr. Khan and his British wife. The education standard was good. However, i could study only for one year there, because it was just a primary school. After 5th class  i had had to get admission in some secondary school.

NEW METHOD SCHOOL was my next school. I studied there for two years. It was also an english medium school. However, i started showing signs of weaknesses in my studies during these years. My father worked hard with me and contacted my teachers too, but of no avail. But it was a nice school with good extra curricular activities too.

My father decided to change my school. Not just the school only but he had decided to send me to a Government Urdu Medium School. It was the turning point of my life. My elder brother with a brilliant academic carrier, was left to continue his studies in the english medium school. But i was taken out.

When i look back, and try to gauge the possible reasons behind such a decision of my father, i become confused. I become confused because in those days , studying in a Government school had not been considered as a setback as it is now. But on the other hand, i am sure that he wanted his children to go to the english medium school. The Government schools, in those days were by no mean behind the prestigious english schools. Rather generally the students of the Government schools used to take the top positions in the matriculation examinations. So going to a government school was by no mean amounted to be an insult at that time.
I can simply presume that my father had realised that it would be difficult for me to continue my studies in an english medium school.

I repeatedly watched my elder brother going to school with tie and navy blue sweater, and with different dress on every extra curricular activity. I was wearing the khaki pent and white shirt of the government school. This situation might have led to an inferiority complex in me at that raw age, but indeed the credit goes to my parents who never let me feel anything like that.

Now when i look back to those years, i feel that it was a very correct and appropriate decision of my father.
In that Government School, i became far more realistic and simple. I became a all time happy sort of boy, who could enjoy under odd conditions. This peculiar mentality and approach became the most important part of my character and i believe it always help me getting out of all difficult periods of my life.

Before reverting back to my educational career, i would like to mention that in those days it was not easy to get admission in a Government School. My father had asked one of his friends Syed Sahiquddin, who was working in the Auditor General of Pakistan Revenue, to help me getting admitted in this school.

Now i return back to my educational career.
As i have mentioned earlier i was not a brilliant student when i was got admitted in class eighth of the GBSS No. 1 school. But indeed was the jumping board for my future academic life. The list of my standings in annual results is as under. I express my honest gratitude to my parents and to all of my teachers, without whose help. hard labour. dedications and help, the undermentioned achievements could have never been achieved by me.

1967 Class Eight.......GBSS NO.1 Secondary School......class VII-C.......first position in section.
1968 Class Ninth.......GBSS NO.1 Secondary School......first position in Commerce section of the school
1969 Class Tenth......GBSS NO.1 Secondary School......first position in Commerce section of the school

1971 INTERMEDIATE COMMERCE....PREMIER COLLEGE......12th position in Karachi Board
1972 B.Com. Part 1.........PREMIER COLLEGE...............................4th position in Karachi University
1973. B.Com Final...........PREMIER COLLEGE...............................3rd position in Karachi University

1979......Qualified as Chartered Accountant from the ICAP

A couple of weeks ago i went for a short visit to Karachi. I managed to visit my school. It was a desire that i had always been keeping inside me, but generally my Pakistan visit had always been too hectic. However, this time i managed to visit it.

Looking from outside the building i noticed that nothing major had got changed since i left the school in 1969 (43 years ago). I started re-smelling my own youth days, when i passed through the pavement with greenery on both sides, as i entered from the outer gate of the school into the inner gate of the main building.
As i entered this gate, i found a gatekeeper sitting there. I asked him that i wanted to see the Headmaster. He raised his face with a question mark. Before he could asked i told him that i was an old student of the school. He told me that if i am an old student, i must be knowing the location of the Headmaster room. He was correct. I could have reached the Headmaster office with closed eyes. It was not too far.

But as i stopped at the open door of the room, to knock the door, my heart sank. I found myself reliving my past. A very different feeling started overwhelming my emotions. I consoled myself that at the age of 57 now i must not be afraid of the Headmaster. But honestly, the grown up boy inside me told me that i was never afraid of the Headmaster, even when i was a student. It was always the mammoth pressure of grandeur of the Headmaster, the unscalable respect that was always part of that post, always made my legs tremble. On that particular day (10th December 2012), when i was about to knock at the open door of the school headmaster, my legs were again trembling.

But i had already stepped inside the room. In front of me was a young. polite and well mannered academision. I introduced myself. As obvious he too was somewhat thrilled like me. However. it was a nice meeting. He explained his personal feelings , proposed plans and projects of the school. He appeared to be a hard working. I did come to know a lot about the glorious past of my school, which i never knew. He showed me a list of some very exceptional students of the same school, who had made their mark in the fields of politics, sports, films and Tv, etc etc etc.
I felt much proud of my school.

                                MIRZA ARSHAD BAIG (The present Headmaster of the School ).

     As i was talking with the Headmaster, the school bell rang. I could not stop myself from joining the young students coming out of the  gate of the school. I took the above photograph, trying to re-live my old old days, when i too used to rush through the same gate.

             A scene of the computer lab of the school. (In my times we had not even heard the name of computer)

 The Headmaster and the Librarian of the school. They were kind enough to brief me about the library.

 The framed map and the wall clock, belonged to my period. These have been kept as antique.

                                  The middle garden of the school. It is still the same. I loved that

              My school still makes its name in different fields. Some trophies won by the school students.



Hereunder are some latest photographs of my ex classfellows of GBSS No.1 Nazimbaad.


MR. AKBAR ALI (BADRI). Nowadays he is in USA. We were classfellows in class ninth and tenth, and later on in college also.

                                             SYED MUBASHIR HUSSAIN ZAIDI
                                          a very close friend of mine in class ninth and tenth. He is sick now a days

                                                 SYED DIDAR ABBAS RIZVI
                                         my closest friend in class eighth.
                                          On 11th December 2012 we met perhaps after 40 years.
                                           

TODAY'S GENTLEMEN BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS BE MY BOYS

                                   

There are some professions where seniority always counts. Though disciplinary aspect of seniority evades with the passage of time, but when looking back the seniors of the profession always find the gentlemen of today as nothing else but their juniors.

The profession of Chartered Accountancy is also the same. Here everyone enters the field as being a junior of someone. However within a passage of time, he finds his own juniors lining behind him, and so on and so forth. The profession of Chartered Accountancy (in my days 1970s and 1980s) was a bit different from what it is now a days, however the criteria of being a junior or a senior is still there and i hope will always be there.

The Seniors in the profession though do have to teach and train the juniors yet, they do have to get the work out of them too. For this the seniors do go through various tactics and styles, which indeed differ from person to person. The senior acts as the boss and disciplinarian at one hand and as the best friend on the other. As the years pass by, the juniors do grow up , leave the audit firms, join other professions and/or businesses, etc etc, yet the moments that they shared with their seniors become eternal, unforgetable and perhaps valuable memories.

I joined Rahim Jan & Co. Chartered Accountants in April 1974 as an Articled Clerk (after passing my B.Com). Finished my Articledship in 1976, and left the company. I stayed home till 1979 (during which i worked for a 8months period in Hameed Chaudhri &Co.). I re-joined Rahim Jan &Co. immediately after qualifiying as Chartered Accountant in 1979. (I was 24 years old then). I worked at various positions in the company till July 1991, when i left Pakistan for good.

The idea behind writing all this is to emphasis the length of the period in which i experienced the seniority relationship with the juniors. There must be hundreds of juniors who worked under me and i played minor or major role in grooming them, however i personally classify these juniors in two. One, those who worked under me for a short period of time, and got transferred to work under some other senior. Secondly, those who remain attached to me as my junior on my audit assignments for a longer period and we developed friendship among us. I refer to the juniors falling in the second category as MY BOYS. Among us we have developed a unique relationship . It is a unique mixture of mutual respect and friendship.

Years have passed, MY BOYS grew up. Went out in the practical world. Joined various organisations or started their own businesses. Got married, have children, some even became grandfathers. But still they are MY BOYS. And i am sure, they never mind when i call them (today's gentlemen) as my boys. This is a specail relationship between us. THEY ARE GOING TO BE MY BOYS FOREVER. I consider it as an honour for me to refer to them like that. I am proud of them.



I may clarify that MY BOYS can be sub-divided into two further categories. First, those who remained my juniors during the first half of the 1980s. They were much closer to me, also because of lesser age difference.
However, most of them left me after completing their periods of Articledship or whenever they found some other good working opportunity.
The Second ones are those who became my junior during the later half of the 1980s. There was rather a bit larger age differences between us. Although, we did have good working and personal relaitonship with them, yet they generally remained different from the First ones.

I am out of Pakistan since 1991. However whenever i visit Pakistan i do meet one or two of my boys. But it was this year (2012) when i visited Karachi for a short 10 days period , my boys (mostly from the early 1980s periods) did organise themselves and took time our for a collective get-together with me. It was indeed something unforgetable. I felt honoured.

However there was one exception. Mr. HASSAN AHMED , one of my juniors from late 1980s took pain to find me out, helped me a lot on more than one count during my stay, and was kind enough to take me out for a fantastic dinner at Lal Qila, with Mr. Waqar Hassan (an another friend of exceptionally high calibre ).

Returning back to the two lunches arranged by My boys, i would say that it was a unique opportunity to relive the old but golden days of our lives. For most of the period that we were there we were just recalling incidents that we had been passed through jointly on one or more audit assignments during the 1980s. We perhaps ate less (not from the point of the view of the host , who paid good amounts for that), because we remained too busy in talking and laughing, repeating the old jokes and funny encounters and personal adventures, during the audit periods.

I am too thankful to Mr. ZAHID AQEEL, the Board Secretary of Civil Aviation Authority, who took out his time to attend the lunch with me. He was my junior in Rahim Jan & Co. . I met him for the first time when i re-joined the company in 1979 after qualifying. He was the senior of the audit of Khairpur Textile Mills, when that job was handed over to me. So he was my junior in technical sense of the word, but not a junior to whom i taught the audit task. He was also with me at the audit of Bengal Fibres Ltd. It is very nice of him that he still considers me as his Senior and respect. I feel grateful and honoured.

Whenever i discuss my period in the audit profession, it always remain incomplete without finding SUHAIL AHMED in the middle. And mind it, this is not my personal opinion, all of my boys from the early 1980s period believe that Suhail is the one who is just simply unignorable person. Whenever any two of my boys from that period meets or talks on telephone even, their conversation never completes without referring to Suhail, in one way or another. He was one extraordinarily witted person, who has not yet lost his style and characteristics. He is still the same Suhail that he used to be on KESC or or any of my other audit assignments. Suhail is just Suhail, because he is simply the only one of his kind.

As i mentioned earlier, no conversation even becomes complete without mentioning the name of Suhail between us, so how could there be a re-union of my boys without him. On 12th December 2012 the lunch re-union was arranged by Zaki, but at the last moment Suhail had excused himself due to death of one of his close relatives. We did go out for the lunch, but we agreed that we MUST once again meet the next day at lunch WITH Suhail. He is so important a personality among us..So next day once again we met at lunch with Suhail . Although the lunch was in my honour, yet there was no doubt that Suhail was the centre of all attention.

Suhail, in fact was my class fellow in Premier College, when we were doing our Bachelors of Commerce (1972/73). We knew each other by face, but we perhaps never came across during that period. We came across once again during 1978 when i worked for a short period of 8 months in Hameed Chaudhri & Co. Chartered Accountants. I had completed my Articled ship and passed the CA Intermediate exam. Suhail, was completing his Auditship at Hameed Chaudhri & Co. We developed good understanding among us, during this 8 months time. Suhail joined Rahim Jan & Co. a little later, as Senior, after completing the period of his Auditship. I was working as the job incharge , after qualifying CA, with Rahim Jan & Co. Suhail made a direct entry on my all jobs as the job Senior. For the most part of time that we two remained in Rahim Jan, Suhail remained the Senior of my audit assignments. The uneding friendship that started during that period is still strong. For Suhail it is not just i, but all of my boys say. SUHAIL THE GREAT.


                                                                   SUHAIL AHMED


                            FROM LEFT TO RIGHT HUMAYUN MAJEED, HASHMAT ALI, MUHAMMAD ZAKI, SUHAIL AHMED, AHMET ABDULAZIZ (myself)




from left to right .........myself ANWAR IQBAL, KHURSHEED AKHTAR, NASRULLAH ZUBEIRI






                        ALAMGEER AKHTAR                                      

                            HASHMAT ALI

                  NASRULLAH ZUBEIRI                                        


                       MUHAMMAD ZAKI




 
                       















                     HUMAYUN MAJEED

NOTE: All of the above photos were taken and sent by Suhail.

And here under are some photographs taken at lunch, on 12th December 2012 at Lal Qila restaurant , Karachi. organised by my boys in my honour.

from left to right ....... MYSELF, HUMAYUN MAJEED, ANWAR IQBAL, MUHAMMAD ZAKI, KHURSHEED ANWAR, HASHMAT ALI, NASRULLAH ZUBEIRI and ZAHID AQEEL

In fact it was a wonderful re-union of my boys from early 1980s, however, there still were a few more ones left out, who were either could not be contacted or were out of the country. Among these were KAFEEL AHMED, MUHAMMAD FEROZE ALAM, MUHAMMAD HUSSAIN KHAN, SALMAN AHMED, MASOOD HASAN, etc. I hope to come in contact with them in near future.

I always miss all of MY BOYS.

I will add some more photographs in near future.

MY REQUEST TO ALL OF MY BOYS IS TO READ THE ABOVE AND SEND ME THEIR SHORT BIO DATA AND CONTACT NUMBERS, WHICH I INTEND TO INCLUDE HERE.

A NIGHT IN DUBAI - BUT WITH A DIFFERENCE

I know that i am different. This is why i usually do not get offended or desperate when things start taking a totally different turn.. My latest ten days Pakistan visit too brought me face to face quite too many interesting incidents, leading to so many ,of the beat sort of stories to be shared.

I stayed in Dubai for about 20 hours. It was an unplanned stay. Unplanned anything always mean thrill to me.  The thrill however sometimes  furthers by unexpectedly un-folding of new chapters that may end up like a horror movie. This was exactly what had happened on that particular day when i spent 20 hours at Dubai Airport.

It was the night between 14th and 15th December 2012.

Before starting the real story, i must explain a bit of some basic facts that would help understanding the whole issue.

1. My Pakistan passport was long finished. I had neither got that extended nor got a new one.
2. I have got a passport of the TURKISH REPUBLIC OF NORTHERN CYPRUS, which is an unrecognised country, recognised only by Turkey.
3. So far i had been travelling on my TRNC passport for going to Turkey.
4. This time i decided to use my TRNC passport for travelling beyond Turkey, although knowing that except Turkey this passport has not been accepted anywhere.
5. I did manage to get a visa from the Pakistan consulate in Istanbul, for visiting Pakistan. It was a big success for me. However it was a sort of unofficial visa, because Pakistan does not recognise TRNC Passport.
6. I was having a return ticket from Emirates from Istanbul/Dubai/Karachi and back.
7.While Checking in at the Emirates counter at istanbul for my flight from Istanbul to Karachi through Dubai, they had objected to my passport and had refused to board me on the plane, however as a last resort they had got a paper signed by me where i had accepted to be personally responsible for everything if things does not go the desired way (that is an another story)

Well i now return  back to the Dubai adventure.

I knew Emirates for its punctuality, however this time it had drastically shattered that image. The Karachi/Dubai flight took off from Karachi more than an hour late.
It was a nice and normal flight, with good service.

There was going to be more than 2 hours transit period for me at Dubai, in which i was supposed to catch my next connecting Emirates flight to Istanbul. But it was already late.

I had had to rush for my connecting flight. My baggage was already booked directly for Istanbul. But there was something which was out of my control. I simply do not know the logic of Emirates. As the plane landed and we got out of the it, they boarded the passengers in a bus ,  and the bus kept on running for around 20 minutes, to reach the entrance door of the main airport building. It was something like a Tour de Apron sort of free service run by Emirates. It reminded me of the hijacked planes which have usually been parked at the remote area of the airport. Perhaps my plane too was parked at some remote area of the airport, or as i have mentioned just earlier too , Emirates wanted to have a good view of the airport from the apron. . The same had had happened  on my way to Karachi, and the same was happening this time too.

Ultimately when i reached the airport building i did know that i would have to rush if i wanted to catch the connecting flight.
I did know that there was no sign mentioning TRANSIT PASSENGERS from the gate where the passengers land in to the point where they end up in a hall. From there when you turn left (i had learnt that) there are huge elevators, (marked TRANSFERS)which go to one particular place. I ultimately reached the destined point. Reaching that particular floor, you do not get a sign or arrow marking where the transit passengers should go. However i did know that i did have to reach a TRANSFER counter of EMIRATES. There were two Bengali clerks sitting there. I showed them my ticket and boarding card. One of them told me that i must run fast to catch the plane. But which way should i go ?

I asked a sweeper there, and he told me to go ahead. On that way there was a queue. Passengers were passing through the scanning machine one by one. I wasted a lot of time there. Then again there were no signs to lead me. I asked the security man there. He told me that i should go ahead , then turn right, from there take the escalators to reach my gate. I ran through the whole course. My gate was  was not too near. I literally ran. At last i reached the required gate.

There was an emigration officer at the boarding point. I showed him my passport and ticket. As expected, he asked me that which country's passport that was. so i told him the story. He called an another person, and they both tried to locate this country (TRNC) in their booklet. I do not know if they found this name in some list of unrecognised countries. But they decided to take photographs  of my passport. Once this process was finished i was showed the way to the Emirates staff, who simply refused to take me in. I was shocked. I was told that since my Karachi/Dubai flight had arrived late, so my baggage could not be collected by them. I was told that i would have to wait for the next flight. I was told that the next Istanbul bound flight would be the next morning at 10.50am. I was told to go to the Transfer Desk H.

But where was the TRANSFER DESK H ?. I simply did not know. When asked i was showed a way to go ahead. I  was told that i would have to go down. I went to the place directed, but there the excellators were going up. There was no way to go down.

I started feeling myself lost. There was no way to go. There were two other foreigners who too were trying to find the way out. I asked a sweeper to show me some way out. He told me that first i must go through the screening machines to re enter the hall from where i would be going to the Transfer Desk H. I had had to follow that way.

At last i succeeded in finding the Transfer Desk H. Interestingly it was the same desk where two bengali officials were sitting who had told me to run fast to catch the plane. When i reached back to them, one of them laughingly but in a very cunning voice asked me as to why i did not run fast to catch the plane. I felt hurt, but preferred to keep quite. I told him that i did go to the gate but i was told that they could not have collected my baggage and i would have to take the next flight the next morning. As i was explaining this to them, the other one in a very harshly tone blamed me that i had never reached the gate. I was shocked to hear such a blame. He said that the plane was still there waiting for ONE passenger. I felt myself totally confused and lost, as i was unable to figure out what was happening. There must have been something wrong somewhere.

What was wrong, did come to light within moments. The other fellow sitting next to him,told him that he was looking at a WRONG FLIGHT, and my aero plane had already left. Interestingly the guy who had blamed me of not going to the gate, never felt the need to apologise. It was my time to say some strong words to him, but i opted to remain cool.

I was told to go to the other part of the same section to an another staff member of Emirates. I was told that Emirates would arrange for my boarding and lodging, for my overnight stay in Dubai. But ofcourse , in my case things usually do not turn up the normal way. The filipino girl on the counter started questioning me about country of which passport i was carrying. As in previous cases, she called her senior, who reassessed my passport. However, within a few minutes they decided to give me a Hotel Coupon. I was told to go to the CUSTOMER SERVICE DESK. When asked about its location i was told to go down (or was it to go up?). Well, i found an elevator, boarded in it, but there was only one push button in it. I had had to go out where it took me to. Out there, i asked about the Customer Services Desk, i was told to go to the Arrivals section. Again the same question arose. Where was ARRIVALS?

Well to cut all this mind boggling hectic ups and downs,short, i managed to reach the Customers Services Desk. A polite gentleman there helped me there and explained that i would have to cross through the Emigration counter, then i will find a Bus No. 1 outside the main gate, which would take me directly to the hotel. He told me that i would be boarding the same bus the next morning to reach back the airport in time. Everything seemed  going to happen perfectly, as explained. But it was me. So nothing was going to happen the normal way.

Although surely knowing what was going to happen, but i took my turn in the queues before the emigration cabins. It took sometime to come in front of the guy sitting there. He took my passport in his hands, and literally checked it three times. Then he photographed me, and repeatedly asked me to keep my eyes wide open while being photographed. After he succeeded taking my photograph, he started asking me the same questions about my passport and nationality that i had been through so many times. In the end me he asked me to go to his officer, who was sitting in a distant room. I went there. The two officers sitting there investigated my passport and my identity, and then cancelled my Hotel Voucher. I was not allowed to go out in Dubai and to stay in the Hotel granted by the Emirates. A new adventure had just started.

I had had to find some way out.

So i went back to the same Customers service counter. I again explained the whole story to the guy sitting there. I told him that i wont mind spending my night at the airport. In fact, in my mind, i had prepared myself for an adventurous night at the Dubai Airport. However, the guy there phoned here and there and told me to stay at the Dubai International Airport Hotel, (inside the Airport building). He told me that i would be taking food voucher from the Emirates counter.

As usual he explained me how to get to the Hotel. But there were quite too many left and right turns, excellators etc in the plan, that in the end i found myself totally messed up. However, ultimately i succeeded in finding the hotel. (perhaps it would be easier to me if he had told me to go to floor no.5) It was on the 5th floor. of the building. When i reached the hotel, i realised why it became too difficult for me to find the hotel.

Actually, i was told to go to the DUBAİ INTERNATIONAL HOTEL, but on all leading signs on all the flours HOTEL was written, whereas i was trying to find out the Dubai International Hotel. Secondly when i ultimately reached the 5th floor, i could read the room numbers on the rooms by the corridors, then i read the boards of spa, massage salon etc etc on some rooms, but i was looking for the Dubai International Hotel. After crossing over 200 metres of the corridors, i ended up in front of the Reception desk of the Hotel. For the first time there i read the board mentioning Dubai International Hotel. I wondered what had stopped them hanging boards at least on the fifth floor mentioning that it was the Dubai International Hotel, But they had preferred to write only HOTEL, which might have been proper for all other passenger who must have been knowing that there was no other hotel in the building. Again i realised that they had never thought that one day a passenger named Ahmet Abdulaziz would turn up and go through all these problems.

I always wonder if such things happen to me only?

Interestingly the computer system of the hotel was not working. So i had had to wait there for sometime, but the filipino girl there was kind enough to get the entrance card filled by me. She gave me a card  for the room number 2018. I was happy , i had succeeded.in getting a room to spend my night in. For me it was a big success.

I put my bag in the room. It was a really luxurious room. But i was hungry. The next step thus was to go to the relevant Emirates counter and get the Food Voucher. I came out of the room, went to the Reception, and asked her as to where would i have to go for my Food Voucher. She told me ONE FLOOR DOWN. She showed me the way to the elevator. I entered it. The door closed. I had had to go to ONE FLOOR DOWN. According to my simple logic One floor down from flour 5th is 4th. But inside the elevator the situation was different. There was no push button for the 4th floor. The elevator was operating between 3rd and the 5th floor. There was no other way out for me but to get out at the third floor. It was the Duty Free shop area, and i had to find some stairs or elevators to reach the 4th floor. I asked a filipino girl on one of the counters. "How can i go to the 4th floor", i asked. " FIRST Floor?", she enquired. I told her that i wanted to go to the FOURTH floor. This time i showed her four fingers to support my enquiry. But again she could not come out with a reply. She again asked me "What do you want?". Hahahahahahahahahahaha. That was really a terrible moment for me, when i could not decide if it would be proper to weep or laugh. I asked in a softer tone to her,"WHAT FLOOR IS THIS?". and her reply to that really burst me into a laughter. Her reply was ," THIS IS DUTY FREE SHOP FLOOR SIR". I could not stop myself laughing. Looking that her manager approached me. I asked him if he could show me the way to go to the 4th floor. The guy fortunately or unfortunately was a full professional one. He told me that it was a duty free shop, and if i want to ask something i must go to the customers services counter. I literally became speechless.

I looked around, and found out that the 4th floor was the administrative wing, and perhaps that was the reason why passengers were not allowed to go there, etc etc etc. Well that consoled me. I realised that i had had to find my way out myself without anybody's help. I started roaming around the floor. It  did not take much time to find a desk of Emirates. There were some people in the queues. I asked a person who had just left the counter, if it was the counter to get the Food Counter. He replied affirmatively. Interestingly, the counter did not have any broad sign on it like FOOD COUPONS there, so that one could find it easily. There was a small  framed card put upright on the counter mentioning that it was a Food Coupon counter. Obviously with twenty or thirty passengers rushing in lines before the counter, nobody can read that small card on the counter , from inside that huge building called Dubai International Airport.. It was not just i who was facing such a difficulty. While i was in the line, there were quite a few new passengers who were finding the food counter by asking passenger like myself in the queu, to get the Food Voucher from that counter.May be Emirates wanted to discourage passengers from getting the food vouchers and buy their food themselves..MAY BE

When ultimately i reached the counter, i was told that a passenger could get only one Food coupon, irrespective of the period of the transit. The guy on the counter showed me the printed instructions on the card on the counter. I never wanted to argue. I took the coupon.

I came up to my room on the 5th floor. Took a nice bath. Opened the television and jumped into the lovely bed. When a short period lapsed in that position i realised that i had not eaten anything. Oh No. But i was too lazy to come out of the bed , change the clothes, walk down the corridor, take the elevator, select one of the restaurants, eat and return back. No, no and no. I was not going for that.

I preferred to enjoy the bed. I saw two bottles filled with water on the table with an electric kettle, tea cups and tea and coffee packets. That was all that i could get. It was complimentary. So i drank two full cups of coffee, while surfing the television.

I slept for a big part of the night. It was a wonderful night in Dubai.

The Call service gave me a ring in the morning. As to my routine, i changed my clothes, and got myself relieved off the hotel. It was time for a lovely breakfast. I used my Food coupon to enjoy a much needed nice breakfast. There was quite a few hours left for my flight. I roamed around the shops. It was nice to read faces of innumerable passengers from innumerable countires, young and old, male and female, sick and healthy, but all having the sole goal in mind..........TO FLY OUT OF DUBAI. I too was one of them with the same goal in mind. My night in Dubai had ended, but with a difference.

Just a very small note here.
I went to the toilet on the Duty Free Floor of the airport (the far end one) and for the first time in my life (i accept i am not a frequent flyer) i saw people queued up for toilet. I personally felt, keeping in mind the innumerable number of passengers using the Dubai airport, they must increase the numbers of toilets on that floor.

NOTE: My next flight from Dubai to Istanbul (agaın Emirates) also took off late from Dubai. What led to the events afterwards are the subject matter of an another blog story.

Bye